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‘Jem.’ He put the papers on a pile and his spectacles on top of them, and rose. He looked as he would probably look when he was sixty, Jem thought, and could see the elegant older man Nicky would become, alone in his book-lined room.
He held out his hand, without thinking. Nicky came to take it, almost cautiously. Their fingers touched, and Jem had a momentary vision, lasting a fraction of a second and so real he could taste it, of Nicky pulling him close, and striking upwards with Toby’s stiletto clasped in his bloody hand.
He didn’t do that. Their hands clasped lightly, flinchingly, and parted.
‘I must admit to surprise,’ Nicky said. ‘It’s been a long time.’
‘It has.’
‘For a good reason. What are you doing here?’
‘Did nobody tell you I was coming?’
‘Who?’
‘The college staff?’ Jem suggested. ‘Or one of the others. I’m here for a few days, in Bascomb.’
‘The others,’ Nicky repeated, ignoring the rest. ‘Theothers?’
‘I’ve been to see them. All of them, except Ella. I wondered if any of them might have written to you.’
‘No. What are you doing, Jeremy? Oh Christ.’ He stepped back. ‘Tell me you aren’t intending to revive that business.’
‘If bythat businessyou mean Toby’s murder, yes. I’m looking into it.’
‘You’ve joined the police force?’
‘Hardly. No, I’ve lost my position, actually. I was a clerk at Somerset House?—’
‘Aclerk?’
‘People like me rarely get one chance, certainly not two. I did a job in an office, and then there was another letter, and people calling me a murderer again, and I lost my job. I’m tired of suspicion, and not knowing. Has there been a letter recently, by the way? About you?’
‘Dear boy, there’s a pigeonhole especially for them,’ Nicky said. ‘Not so many as there used to be, so I’m delighted to learn you intend to dig it all up again: thatwillbe fun. Do you seriously intend to play Sherlock Holmes over Toby’s death? Is the idea to avenge your lost position, or your lost hopes, by unearthing a killer?’
Jem had forgotten quite how unpleasant Nicky’s smooth scorn could be. ‘I want to know who killed my friend and ruined all our lives. You might care about that too.’
‘Is my life ruined?’
‘Are you happy?’
‘That’s an entirely different question. Who else’s life is ruined? I thought the more resilient of us seemed to be doing rather well.’
‘Hugo is.’
‘He would be.’
‘Aaron has a medical practice. Ella works at the University of London. But they never married, each other or anyone else. Prue is widowed, living in a village. I’m…this.’
‘I’m not sure whatthisis meant to convey,’ Nicky said. ‘You seem to me still to be Jeremy Kite, a state of being to which I rarely found reason to object. Is Prue unhappy? Beyond widowhood,’ he added, making it sound like a trivial inconvenience.
‘She lost her son,’ Jem said. ‘She had a child and he died.’
‘I’m sorry to hear it.’
‘He was born a little over eight months after Toby’s murder.’
Nicky took a second, then his eyes widened sharply. ‘Post hoc, ergo…?’
